


We Found Love

by stopcallingmeapollo (GayMarauders)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:37:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5460035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayMarauders/pseuds/stopcallingmeapollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has to learn to dance in a day to save Courfeyrac's dream wedding. The only professional dancer he knows? Grantaire, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Found Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [they_hear_the_music](https://archiveofourown.org/users/they_hear_the_music/gifts).



> Secret Santa fic--I hope you like it!  
> Thinking Out Loud is my guilty pleasure song, so I guess it's Courf's too :P

[Courf, 1:34 am]

_Enjolras, you learned to dance right?_

[Enjolras, 1:39 am]

_What are you talking about?_

[Enjolras, 1:40 am]

_I was asleep Courf wtf is going on_

[Courf, 1:41 am]

_I told you a couple weeks ago you're doing the father/daughter dance with me because my dad's having that medical thing right before the wedding. YOU KNOW HOW TO DANCE RIGHT_

[Enjolras, 1:43 am]

_Wait, you were serious? Courf, you're a boy! I thought it was a joke!_

[Courf, 1:45 am]

_Well SOMEONE has to have a father/daughter dance, every wedding has one. DON'T RUIN MY WEDDING ENJ_

[Enjolras, 1:47 am]

_Oh my god. I won't, I promise. I'll just have to find someone who can dance to teach me._

[Courf, 1:47 am]

_Grantaire will teach you._

_He's a professional choreographer._

_He'll be the perfect teacher_

_Ask Grantaire_

[Enjolras, 1:49 am]

_Do you really think that's a good idea? I don't think he even likes me that much._

[Courf, 1:50 am]

_I only trust Grantaire for this. You have three days, Enj._

[Enjolras, 1:54 am]

_Fine._

* * *

 

“You’re telling me that you wrote your speech three years in advance, got a suit specially made, and actually _wrote a novel_ for Courf and Ferre, but you left learning to dance until two days before the wedding?”

Grantaire looked up at Enjolras in disbelief, shaking his head at the distraught look on his friend’s face.

“It’s not a novel, it’s just an essay on healthy relationships that got a bit out of hand. And I didn’t think Courf was serious about me having the father/daughter dance with him…which apparently means us, alone, in the middle of the dance floor for a full two minutes…For fuck’s sake, R, stop laughing!” Seeing that his appeal was useless, Enjolras dropped into the empty chair opposite Grantaire. “Look, ordinarily I wouldn’t ask anything of you but—“

“Yeah, this might be a bad idea, you know. Trusting me with something mildly important.” There was an element of something…not quite bitter, per se, but less than humourous in Grantaire’s tone.

“No, that’s not—I just meant—it’s last-minute, and I would’ve asked Courf but he’s so busy with everything else, and I know you have that show coming up, but…” Enjolras trailed off awkwardly. “Please, R, I really need this.”

The somber sincerity of Enjolras’s plea struck a nerve somewhere deep in Grantaire’s newly-sober brain. He had often heard Enjolras insist, bargain, reason, even command; but the simplicity here startled him.

“Alright, no need to beg, Apollo.” Enjolras winced at the nickname, but held his tongue. Surprised, Grantaire continued: “What time were you thinking?”

“Ten o’clock tomorrow? That’ll give us most of the day. If you’re up for it, that is. I’ll feed you too. I’m fairly adept at making mac and cheese from a box.” He smiled hesitantly at Grantaire, who couldn’t help but reciprocate.

“Perfect. I’ll be at your place around ten—the kitchen in your apartment should be about big enough to practice in.”

“Well, I guess I’ll…see you then.”

The two men remained seated, eyes locking every few seconds in what Grantaire thought might be the most awkward silence of all time. Finally, he pushed his chair back—just as Enjolras did the same.

“I’ll just—“

“I should really—“

“…yeah,” they trailed off in unison. After another moment of silence, they both moved for the door of Le Musaine, Grantaire tripping over his own feet in the process. _What a great teacher,_ he thought sarcastically as he smacked into the door. _Twelve years of ballet and this is what I have to show for it._

“After you.” Enjolras blinked in surprise, but brushed past Grantaire nonetheless, executing a nearly perfect slow-motion twirl in his attempt to maintain eye contact.

“Thanks, Grantaire, really, it means a lot, I’d be more than happy to do something in return the favour anytime.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire muttered. “If I ever need lessons on how to rant about social justice, I’ll let you know.”

* * *

The next day, Enjolras woke to a loud knock on the door. Pulling a baggy pair of sweatpants on as he stumbled down the hall, his brow wrinkled in confusion. _It’s a Saturday morning, what the hell is anyone doing here?_

He opened the door quickly and stared uncomprehendingly up into a pair of startlingly green eyes. A moment later something clicked, and he ran his hand through his sleep-tousled hair in frustration.

“Dance lessons.”

“Forget something, o fearless one?” Grantaire’s mouth quirked as he smirked down at the smaller man. Enjolras, unamused, stepped out of the doorway and gestured Grantaire inside.

“Just let me get something to eat and we’ll get started, I guess. Sorry,” he added as an after thought.

“Late night? Let me guess…you were writing a paper on feminism or something?”

“Netflix binge, actually. It’s kind of a tradition for me after I finish a big project.” Enjolras pulled a glass out of a cupboard, pouring a packet of something brown in and mixing it with some milk.

“Well congrats, then, I guess.” Grantaire stood awkwardly next to Enjolras’s kitchen table, looking around the rather disorganized room and studiously ignoring Enjolras’s backside as he climbed on top of a chair to reach the plates on an upper shelf.

“Thanks. I graded…two hundred and sixty International Relations term papers last night, I think. A personal record,” Enjolras replied. Grantaire whistled, impressed.

“Let’s see if you can keep up the streak of self-improvement, shall we? As soon as you’re done eating we should get started. There’s not a lot of time before the wedding and I’d hate to see Courf disappointed.”

Enjolras climbed off the chair he was standing on, leaving the plate behind. He quickly downed the foul-looking concoction in his glass and turned to Grantaire, the same determined glint that he got before making a particularly good argument shining in his eyes.

“I’m ready.” He stepped into the open space in the centre of the kitchen and looked expectantly at Grantaire. “So? How does this work?”

“Well—um. I guess I’ll lead. For now. Can I touch you?” He was about a foot away, hands flitting hovering awkwardly just outside of Enjolras’s personal space. The blond blushed furiously.

“Can you--?! Oh. Uh. Yeah. I think you’ll have to,” he laughed. Grantaire gently took him by the wrist, guiding Enjolras’s hand to his shoulder, and rested his own corresponding hand on his waist.

“And you’ll have to, uh, hold my hand with the other one—like this. And then it’s basically just following my feet. If I step back, you step forward with the nearest foot, and so on—yeah, that’s it. I’m gonna count now, and we’ll take a step with every count. And one-two-three, and one-two-thr—ouch, no, it’s alright, keep going! Look up, you’re doing great. You’re a natural, I swear—two-three, and one-two-three, and one-two-three, good, two-three…”

About half an hour later, the two men broke apart, slightly breathless.

“Can we try this with music?” Enjolras asked. “Courf put the song on my phone a couple days ago.”

“Go ahead, it’ll be good to get you used to music. Not that it’ll take long. You’re doing really well,” Grantaire added. Enjolras pulled his phone from his back pocket and pulled up the song, turning up the volume before he approached Grantaire again.

“Shall we?” his hand rested lightly on Grantaire’s shoulder, and the artist swallowed as the warmth from it radiated through his shirt. Enjolras gazed up at him expectantly, and they began to move again—awkwardly at first, then more smoothly as they began to feel the music. After a while, Enjolras thought that he recognized the song—it was that ginger British man, _Ed something?_ and the lyrics seemed a bit romantic for a “father-daughter” dance. But somehow it felt right to be in Grantaire’s arms, focusing on his face as he relaxed into the motions of the dance. Then suddenly Grantaire’s face wasn’t quite so high above him, and they weren’t turning around and around Enjolras’s kitchen, and his heart had stopped beating, because Grantaire was kissing him—or he was kissing Grantaire—and for a moment everything was frozen as they stood there, arms around each other, lips pressed together lightly.

Enjolras wasn’t sure how long they had been like that, but when they finally broke away, the singer was crooning about how “ _We found love right where we are…”_

“What—I—sorry, that wasn’t—“ Grantaire stuttered. “I should go.” He turned to leave the kitchen, but Enjolras grabbed his arm, and he was surprisingly strong for his small stature.

“Wait, please don’t—that was. Nice.” It sounded incredibly awkward as he said it, so he made up for it by standing on tiptoes and kissing Grantaire’s cheek.

“Really?! I mean, yeah. It was,” Grantaire was blushing, and Enjolras had a feeling he was as well.

“We should probably run through this again, just to make sure I have it down,” he said, guiding Grantaire’s hand back to his waist.

“Somehow I don’t think Courf actually wants you to dance to _Thinking Out Loud_ with him at his wedding, but just to be safe…” he reached over and hit play again, but it wasn’t long before they had forgotten the music once more.

* * *

[Courf, 2:15 pm]

_Hey, Enj, turns out my dad can make it to the wedding after all. So sorry I made you learn to dance for nothing_ _:)_ _:)_ _:)_

[Enjolras, 2:17 pm]

_Sure you are_

[Enjolras, 2:18 pm]

_Hey Courf?_

[Courf, 2:21 pm]

_Yes, o fearless leader?_

[Enjolras, 2:22 pm]

_Thanks._


End file.
